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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652989">you need a different kind of love (don’t blow this)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/pseuds/problematiquefave'>problematiquefave</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AUgust 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Pre-Slash, Slayer Allison Argent, Underage Drinking, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:08:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/pseuds/problematiquefave</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Beacon Hills is an unpredictable town, but for Lydia, high school never surprises her. The teachers are boring, the nerds are best avoided, and new kids aren't worth the hype. Allison Argent should be no different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Allison Argent/Lydia Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AUgust 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>AUgust 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you need a different kind of love (don’t blow this)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beacon Hills High School is small – roughly 700 hundred students total, primarily upper middle class. When rumors of a new girl start to spread among the sophomores, it’s all anyone is talking about by the end of the day. Well, anyone with nothing better to talk about; Lydia silences Claire with an icy glare when she starts nattering on about it at lunch the day before the new girl is supposed to show. Past experiences have taught her they’re never worth the hype, but as the queen bee of BHHS’ social hierarchy, she’ll be the ultimate judge.</p>
<p>Annoyingly, it’s not until they’re shared, third period history class that Lydia sees her. She enters the room, green eyes sweeping over those already seated, pausing on an unfamiliar head of long, dark hair. Moving with purpose, her heels clack against the tiles as she takes the empty seat next to the new girl. She slings her bag over the back of the chair and brushes a lock of red hair over her shoulder before turning to her.</p>
<p>The first thing Lydia notices is that she’s <em>pretty</em>. A sharp jawline, pouty lips, and big, brown eyes. The girl could absolutely be a model – which is why the rumored move from LA to Beacon Hills immediately strikes her as strange. But none of that shows on her face.</p>
<p>“I’m Lydia,” she offers with a lip gloss shiny smile. “If you have any questions, just let me know. I’ll get you up to speed.”</p>
<p>The girl exhales a soft ‘oh’, eyes darting to the side before she recovers from the surprise. “Allison. Thanks – hopefully, it’s not too much different than what they were teaching at Hemery.”</p>
<p>“I doubt it.”</p>
<p>Lydia turns away from Allison, pulling her notebook, writing implements, and textbook from her back. She meticulously organizes them on her desk, noting from the periphery of her vision that Allison just has a notebook. As soon as she tucks that information away, the teacher calls their attention.</p>
<p>There are good teachers and there are bad ones; their history teacher is more the latter than the former. She drones on and on about the Black Death. It <em>is </em>interesting that it was one of the earliest forms of germ warfare, but the teacher doesn’t make it sound that way. Luckily, Lydia’s already read the textbook from front-to-back. Twice. As she flips to the requested page, she spots Allison sheepishly looking around. Scooting her chair over, Lydia holds the book between their desks. Allison whispers a, “Thank you,” under her breath.</p>
<p>The bell rings. “There should be extra copies in the library,” she says to Allison, tucking her supplies back in her bag. “I can show you if you don’t know where that is.”</p>
<p>Allison brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and nods. “I’d appreciate that. The principal didn’t give me a map – said something about being too small for that.”</p>
<p>Lydia snorts, managing to somehow make it sound refined and ladylike. “We’re not LA-size but we’re not <em>that </em>small. Administration just doesn’t want to waste ink.” Pulling her bag up her shoulder, she gestures to the door. “C’mon. I’ll lead the way, and you’ll answer my questions.”</p>
<p>Allison hesitates only for a second. “Okay.”</p>
<p>In the hallway, people make way for them. <em>No one </em>wants to get in the way of Lydia Martin’s path. It’s not suicide exactly, but Lydia knows how to cut a man down to her size with words alone – and she’ll use them for the smallest infractions. Allison might not understand the full context yet, but she seems to get that Lydia is important with a capital I.</p>
<p>“Your jacket is nice,” she says. “Where’d you get it?”</p>
<p>Allison tugs at the collar of the jacket. “My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in LA.”</p>
<p>“Really?” she asks. When Allison’s expression doesn’t change, she decides to believe her. “Then you’re my new best friend. Thoughts on oversized Victorian sleeves?”</p>
<p>She only misses a beat; Lydia will forgive her for not being prepared for the quiz. “A natural extension of the vintage trend. Kind of girly though.”</p>
<p>Lydia nods. “Chunky sneakers with feminine dresses?”</p>
<p>“Hard to make look good, even on Instagram.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it,” she affirms with a roll of her eyes. “Maxi leather jackets?”</p>
<p>Allison chuckles. “The 90s action heroes are calling – they want their style back.”</p>
<p>“Still better than bucket hats,” Lydia adds. “But good, you passed. Your mom might have a good fashion sense, but I had to check it wore off on you. Hell will freeze over before I’m caught with someone wearing PVC. It’s as ugly as it is bad for the planet. Anyways”—she presses her lips together, examining Allison one more time—“why’d you leave LA?”</p>
<p>This time, she doesn’t miss a beat. “My parents wanted to get out of the city. Too much traffic, too much light, too much crime.” Lydia would bet a hundred dollars she’s rehearsed her answer. Still, she raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Have they seen our crime statistics?”</p>
<p>She shrugs. “They’re not too worried.”</p>
<p>“Well—” Lydia is cut off as a boy crashes to the ground in front of them. Something snaps but with as quickly as he scrambles to his feet, it’s not a bone. She sighs as Stilinski adjusts the shoulder strap of his bag and Scott appears from the direction his friend had come. “Losers. Best to forget them.” She grabs Allison’s hand and leads her around the commotion. Turning the corner, they find themselves at the doors to the library. “Here we are.”</p>
<p>Allison blinks at the doors. “Thanks, again. Um—” The bell for next period rings before she can say whatever is on her mind. Lydia doesn’t give her chance.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you in gym.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite Lydia’s earlier warning, she spots Allison speaking to Scott in the hallway outside the lunchroom. Her lips curl with disgust but she averts her eyes and keeps her path to her normal table. If Allison wants to avoid her warnings, fair enough. You can lead even the most beautiful horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. At this point, she’d usually wash her hands of the new girl – yet, a small voice tells her not to give up yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Allison!” she calls, spotting the girl on her way to the gym. The clacking of her heels grows louder as she speeds up. “I saw you speaking with one of those losers earlier. He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”</p>
<p>Her eyes widen but she shakes her head. “No, uh—He just thought he recognized me from somewhere.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t, did he?”</p>
<p>“Nope.” Allison’s breathy voice doesn’t sell the denial but it’s not big enough to push.</p>
<p>“Good. I don’t know where they hang out, but I can tell you it’s nowhere you want to be,” she says. She’d hazard a guess it was somewhere like a comic book shop. “Speaking of, you should come to Sinema tonight.”</p>
<p>“Sinema?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s basically the only club worth going to. Not that there’s a whole lot of options, and they do let everyone in, but it’s still worth it.</p>
<p>“Where is it?”</p>
<p>“Downtown,” she answers. “The industrial district. I can pick you up tonight and show you the way.”</p>
<p>Allison hums: the lack of immediate response forms a pit in Lydia’s stomach that deepens when Allison says, “I’m not sure. I don’t think my parents will let me.” Her disappointment is inexplicable.</p>
<p>“Think about it,” she snaps, harsher than intended. Lydia doesn’t do apologies though. “Google it if you decide to come.” Once more, the clacking of her heels echoes off the walls as she puts distance between her and Allison.</p>
<p>She comes to a dead stop at the gym doors. A crowd has gathered that she pushes her way to the front of. The pit in her stomach turns to nausea as her eyes land on what had caught her classmates’ attentions. A coroner is zipping up a body bag, the pale face of lacrosse player swallowed by darkness. Saliva gathers at the back of her mouth. She spins and rushes back the way she came from, bumping into Allison. Dark eyes stare at her in confusion.</p>
<p>“Body.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>While it’s not the first death at BHHS, it’s the first corpse she’s seen. The pale, bruised skin haunts her each time she closes her eyes. Her mother notices her unease when she gets home, asking if she knew the boy. The admins must have an email template at the ready for each time this happens. Although Lydia knew him vaguely, it wasn’t enough to be choked up by his death. Instead, she tells her mom that lunch didn’t settle well and goes up to her room.</p>
<p>Falling onto the bed, her eyes trace the texture of her ceiling. If there’s one thing she can say about today, it’s that it wasn’t dull – and it’s also not over. She sits up, her gaze snapping to the closet door propped ajar. Allison might not be going to Sinema but plenty of her friends will be. Besides, she could use a drink.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lydia arrives at Sinema in a long-sleeved, black dress that’s shorter than her fingertips, but the thigh-high boots leave only a strip of flesh on display. She cuts the line, handing the bouncer a twenty as he gestures her in. Sinema is dark, the projections of old movies soundlessly playing on the metal walls. Hazel waves her down from their usual table; Lydia’s dark red lips split into a grin.</p>
<p>“God, can you believe what happened in gym today?” Hazel asks by way of greeting. Lydia rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>“Saw it, believe it, don’t want to think about,” she sneers. “Drink status?”</p>
<p>Claire groans. “Kaleb’s on duty.” Kaleb was one of the hardest bartenders to fool. By now, he knew all of their faces and knew they were all underaged. The groan was warranted.</p>
<p>“Guess we’ll just have to find someone buy us drinks.” From past experience, she knew there was no shortage of college guys willing to do that. “How’s my lipstick look?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite having never signed a band with name recognition in all of Sinema’s years of operations, whoever’s in charge of music has never let her down. The dance floor is full of people losing themselves to the singer’s crooning. Lydia throws herself into it, running a hand through her blown out hair as she sways to the music. Hands wrap around her waist before long. She cracks open her eyes and looks up at her partner’s face; a little on the pale side but the bone structure is good, and his hair is just long enough to dig her fingers in. She closes her eyes again and leans closer.</p>
<p>The band plays out one song, transitioning into another with a faster tempo. Cold breath washes over her ear. “Bit quick for me,” he murmurs. “Heard you might want a drink, though.”</p>
<p>“I’d love one,” she whispers against his cheek.</p>
<p>He leads her off the dance floor, leaving her at a table as he heads to the bar. She sends a quick prayer into the universe that Kaleb doesn’t catch the order is for her. Glancing over at her friends, she sees they’ve reeled in their own marks. When she looks back at the bar, she sees her dance partner walking away empty-handed. The curse that runs through her head is the opposite of the image she’s trying to portray. “No luck?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “But I know a place.”</p>
<p>She contemplates it. She doesn’t usually leave with someone she’s exchanged so few words with, but she’s not in the mood to placate her paranoia. “Then take me there.”</p>
<p>He reaches for her hand, lifting it and placing a kiss on her knuckles before guiding her through the dance floor towards the fire exit with the broken alarm. She casts a quick look over her shoulders, frowning when she spots Allison in the entryway. Allison gives her a sheepish wave as their eyes meet from across the room. That voice from lunch that told her to give Allison a second chance returns; this time, it tells her to stay. Unlike before, she ignores it.</p>
<p>Sucking in a breath of fresh air, she squints against the harsh streetlight. Her partner is bathed in yellow, his pale skin soaking up the pigment. He leads her around the corner, deeper into the twisting labyrinth of old warehouses. Her brows furrow. “Where are we going?”</p>
<p>He shushes her. “You’ll see in just a minute.” She notices the tinge of an accent she hadn’t heard previously.</p>
<p>They turn another corner without explanation or destination in sight and she digs her heels in. “<em>Where are we going?</em>” she demands.</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes. He grabs her by the upper-arm and, in a flash, she hits the side of a warehouse. Her head thunks against the metal and he slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her pained expression. Green eyes widen as his face twists into something monstrous. His skin wrinkles, his eyes turn yellow, and fangs extend from his mouth. Before she can wrap her head around what she’s seeing, his cold breath is washing over her neck and his fangs nip at her skin.</p>
<p>She is going to die. Tomorrow, some schmuck taking out the trash will find her body and her death will be splashed across the 5’o’clock news. <em>Local teenager latest victim in string of animal attacks</em>. Her eyes flutter shut, a last plea spoken into the palm of his clammy hand as fangs sink into her neck.</p>
<p>Almost as quickly as her night turned into a horror movie, the weight is yanked from her. Her eyes fly open, first noting that her partner – the <em>vampire </em>– is on his back. Allison’s presence registers a second later, face almost completely turn away from her, a wooden stake in her hand.</p>
<p>“If you’d only been a little quicker, you might’ve gotten away with this,” she taunts as the vampire flips to his feet.</p>
<p>“Who says I haven’t?” he growls.</p>
<p>“Me.” She ducks under his closed-fist swing, elbowing him in the stomach and causing him to stumble backwards. “Y’know, the slayer.” He frowns at her as she stalks towards him. “And I’m kind of new in town – I’d like it if the first person who didn’t treat me like a freakshow didn’t die before my second day of school.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care.” He lunges but she sweeps his legs out from under him with a kick and drives the stake into his heart. The vampire bursts into a cloud of ash.</p>
<p>She brushes the ash off her jeans as she turns to Lydia, her expression softer than her voice had been. “You okay?”</p>
<p>At a loss for words, her voice is several pitches higher when she finds one. “No.”</p>
<p>Her lips press together. “You will be. C’mon”—she offers Lydia her shoulder, baring her weight as she staggers away from the wall. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my car. I’ll bandage you up and drive you home.”</p>
<p>Lydia snorts, her earlier airs of elegance lost. “Wasn’t I supposed to drive you?”</p>
<p>Allison grins. “Next time.”</p>
<p>As presumptive as she is, Lydia can’t bring herself to argue when her heart skips a beat at the thought. <em>Next time. </em></p>
<p>“I’m holding you to that. And you better bring your”—her brows furrow at the weapon held in her other hand—“stake.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” she says, filling Lydia with warmth.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm stoked to be posting my first fic for au august. i hope you enjoyed this one, and i should be posting more allydia (along with some other teen wolf pairings) later this month.</p>
<p>comments and kudos are always appreciated!</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://problematiquefics.tumblr.com/">my tumblr.</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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